


and the bright flags flying

by clobf



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, M/M, Martim Week 2021 (The Magnus Archives), Martim week: identity, Pride, Trans Martin Blackwood, Vignette, and community, and it's nothing super extreme, it's late theyre tender that's becoming my brand at this rate, just some boys doing the washing up and chatting about words, to clarify this is from parents/family offscreen and in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clobf/pseuds/clobf
Summary: “Are you going to Pride this year?”Tim and Martin do the washing up, and discuss words, identity, and community. Nothing changes, but that's fine.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45
Collections: Martim Week 2021





	and the bright flags flying

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Martim Week 2021! It's also super short and technically late by UK timings, whoops. Pretend I'm an American? The prompt I chose to follow was "identity" and there was originally also a bit of "club/pub/bar" in the concept as well, but the more I wrote the more I realised they weren't going to leave the room. Martim Week was organised by some incredible mods and you can find them (and loads of other brilliant work) over at martimweek on tumblr. Check it out!! Also: I am bi and a lot of Martin's conversation around the word "gay" and his feelings about Pride are taken from my experience, but crucially I'm not trans so any feedback would be welcomed (but not, ofc, obligatory)

They’re doing the washing up when Tim brings it up. Martin’s at the sink, washing, and Tim’s sitting on the counter on the other side of his tiny little kitchen. His feet, in a borrowed pair of socks Martin picked up at Primark, are bumping against the washing machine as he dries the plates they’d been using.

“Are you going to Pride this year?” he asks.

“Hm?” says Martin.

Tim repeats the question.

“Oh..uh, no, probably not.”

“Not your scene?”

“No, not really. Not in London, at any rate.” Martin looks out the window over the sink into the street. It’s dark, and the kitchen is reflected behind him. He can see Tim watching him, careful not to push too far.

“Yeah, it’s a lot, that’s fair,” Tim says.

“Are you?” Martin asks. They haven’t talked about any of this yet, and he’s almost surprised it’s taken so long. Tim and Sasha went last year, he’s pretty sure, there’s a photo stuck on the mirror at Tim’s flat.

“Probably, if nothing else comes up. I try to go as much as possible - at least get out to some of the bars if I can’t make the parade.” A pause. “I was only wondering because if you were, I was going to ask you if you wanted to go together.”

Martin meets Tim’s eyes where they’re reflected in the window. Tim shrugs slightly, and Martin smiles. “Thanks, but it really just isn’t my thing. I mean, if there’s a quiet bar somewhere, maybe..”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it. It’s not for everyone.” Tim’s quiet again, resting awkwardly against the cabinet behind him. He dries their plates, and then sits, fiddling with the dish towel, as Martin scrubs at a particularly stubborn bit of charred onion on the bottom of the pan. 

“Have you been, though?” he says after a few minutes.

“Yeah, a few times, when I’d just moved. Once I went to Manchester Pride when I was still living at home. Sort of..skulked in the distance.”

“Ah yeah, the classic first time attendee.” Martin nearly goes to defend himself, but Tim's tone doesn’t sound like mocking, more like recognition.

“Why?” Martin asks. “Do I seem like I’ve never been?”

“No, I was just curious. You’ve got less stuff around than I expected when I first came over. No flags or anything.”

“There’s a few books somewhere, I think. Courtesy of an ex-sort-of-boyfriend. Some gay history, and I think I’ve got a copy of _Conundrum_ lying around? I haven’t read half of them, though.”

“Was it- just say if you don’t wanna talk about it- Was it ever a big thing for you?”

“I mean, yeah. It still is, but like - it is for _me_ , not for..the people I’m interacting with? Sorry, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it does. You don’t feel like making a song and dance out of it.”

“Well, yeah. No offence.”

Tim laughs, loud in the tiny kitchen. Martin looks over his shoulder for the first time since they started talking, a tiny grin creeping onto his face. Tim fits into his kitchen as comfortably as any of the tins stacked away in the cupboards, as the good coffee he brought over and left when he first started staying the night, as the sight of the cutlery in the sink in pairs - two knives, two forks, two lives.

“None taken,” he says, and hops off the counter to put the plates away. “I enjoy my singing and dancing, no one else has to. Not too different from you, I suppose.”

“No, I guess not. I just.. I want to have all those conversations and stuff one on one, I think? So I was never really looking for a big community. I mean, it’s wonderful and I owe it a lot, and it’s great when people are so loud, because I know I can talk to them about it, like- I don’t have any badges or flags, but it’s cool that you and Sasha do? Because I saw the little trans flag on Sasha’s desk, and you’ve got that sticker on your phone case, so I reckoned I could probably talk about my exes or complain about the GRA and I’d be fine, and you both knew Jon, and he didn’t seem to have any issues, so, you know, that’s cool. But I don’t- I dunno, I don’t really want to discuss it with half the people I know.”

Tim nods. “Yeah, I get that. I think I like being in the middle of it, if that makes sense. Because.. I spend ages trying to work out what it meant that I liked guys, and then ages more trying to work out what it meant that I still liked girls as well, and whether I could still go to all the bars and do all the protests and stuff, and then for a few years I wouldn’t use any labels because I didn’t think I was doing it.. _right?_ ” He shrugs, and takes the saucepan Martin hands him, finally free of onion. He’s still holding the cloth, though, and stays where he is, standing next to the sink. They’re both looking down at their work as he continues.

“Like, I wasn’t balanced enough, or I liked different genders in different ways and I didn’t know if it still counted, or I was a bit of a stereotype. So it’s nice, you know, being able to put stickers on things and go to the marches and say “This is the word for me. This is what it means to me.” And it probably means something totally different to other bi people - Sasha and I talk about it _so_ differently, for one thing, but it’s cool knowing we all think “this is the word for us.” Or something like that.”

Martin finishes washing the cutlery and puts it down by Tim, turning to stand leaning back against the sink. They’re still not facing towards each other, but when Martin looks sideways at Tim, he realises he’s much closer than he thought. He feels for a second like he’s watching someone’s life playing out on TV, like the flirting and kisses and nights together make far more sense in his world than this man standing here in his kitchen, washing up with him like it’s routine, discussing all the things Martin spent years reasoning out to himself, alone in his room. Then a car passes outside and Tim blows some hair out of his face and it’s just them, again, doing what they do at least once a week, now. New topic of conversation, that’s all.

“Mm, yeah.” says Martin. “It’s great, finding all the terms in the first place. I mean, I knew what gay meant, sort of, growing up. Nothing good, but I think I got the gist. But trans - I think I found it by accident, in a book about something else entirely. I think I might have got it out for politics AS?”

“You did politics?” Tim asks, and then “Sorry, go on. Not to interrupt your self-discovery. Ignore me.” Martin flicks some of the soapy water that’s draining from the sink at him, and Tim steps on his toe. “Oi, that’s gross!”

“I’m baring my soul, you tosser,” retorts Martin, and Tim takes the hand that had flicked him and kisses the back of it.

“Please continue, Marto, I’m all ears.”

“I mean, that’s it, really. I found a word, and it was right for me, like you said. Did some more research.. and I still didn’t know what to do with it, but it’s a start, you know? I mean, when I comes to _words_ I had more trouble with “gay”. I mean, I _knew_ that one, and I just knew it was bad, and that took me loads more time to get used to.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tim chuckles. “I started by using gay and I had to like, talk my- talk my family through what it meant, that I wasn’t just super lame. I hated the word for ages, but..I don’t know. Time? All those ad campaigns? I’m over it, mostly. Did you- did you tell anyone, or..?”

 _No one to tell_ , Martin thinks, but that’s too much to drop in here, and also strictly speaking not true, so he sort of shrugs instead, and gazes at the calendar fixed up on the fridge. “I told my mum, sort of. On a trip back from London.” Next to him, Tim closes the cutlery drawer gently, finished with the drying. He’s tensed up at Martin’s side, and Martin wonders if he’s making some connection between this and the walls bare of photos in the house. _You’ll leave me here and forget all about me_ , she’d said, _no calls, no photos, you won’t even try to remember me._

 _I will, mum,_ he’d protested, and on most days it's been the truth. He’s just not used to homes covered in photos, he tells himself. He likes the plain walls.

“It wasn’t..bad,” he tells Tim, carefully. “It was just.. like I’d never said it. She doesn’t get anything wrong, but she doesn’t get it right either.”

Tim turns to him, puts the cloth on the side by the sink. “That’s not great,” he says.

“I know, I’m not going, _Oh, yay, so good of her_ , just… I dunno. I said it, either way.”

Tim nods. “That makes sense. I’m just glad however she’s taking it, it’s not upsetting you.” 

“Were your parents all forward thinking and calm, then?” Martin asks, because it really doesn’t get to him, most of the time, and he’s not sure Tim quite believes him.

Tim slings an arm around Martin’s shoulder and blows his cheeks out. “Bit shocked, mostly. I think my dad was happier when I switched to bi. He’s always excited when he sees I’m hanging out with women - he _adores_ Sasha, even though he’s only met her over the phone and I keep telling him I’m not in with a shot there, but.. No screaming, no slammed doors. People have it a lot worse. And- the rest of my family were calm about it. Had a great aunt with a few opinions on the _sacred tradition of marriage_ , but she’s gone now, and it was never like...super dramatic. Just a bit awkward, when I insisted on surrounding myself with hot men. And the hot men are all far too wonderful to give up.” He grins over at Martin.

“Is that some absurd attempt to wind this back into flirting?” says Martin, but it’s a losing battle; he can hear the fondness in his own voice.

“I’m just stating facts,” says Tim, and Martin laughs. He feels lighter than he’s ever felt before, discussing this, with Tim’s arm around him, and everything safe, fitting into its place. It’s not like he’s realised anything new, or made a load of bold affirming promises, but it’s nice, taking the words out, using them, putting them back into his pocket. He won’t go to Pride with Tim, but he could stand to have some more conversations like this, he reckons.

**Author's Note:**

> For once I've got no weird references or geography notes to break down in the end notes, so I'll just reiterate that martimweek on tumblr is the place to be rn (and if you want to check my blog out, it's crappylineofbestfit)
> 
> Oh, and the book Martin mentions owning is by Jan Morris, a trans historian and travel writer. I should say for once this isn't really a recommendation, since I have very mixed feelings on her work, but it is a book that I've seen in most LGBT bookshops I've been in and one I wouldn't be surprised by Martin ending up with.


End file.
